


The Bite

by daydreamsonacloudyday



Series: Isabel Cousland [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsonacloudyday/pseuds/daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is bitten by a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bite

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of info about this: Zathrian says that “the affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood.” Because a Grey Warden’s already got the taint in their blood, I headcanon that the two don’t react very well together, and it speeds up the whole turning/dying in agony process of being bit by a werewolf.

He'd been bitten by a werewolf.

After everything they'd been through, that's how it was going to end. A werewolf bite.

Isabel panicked when she saw the bite mark and it's accompanying symptoms—symptoms that weren't supposed to show for a few days after the bite. Nonetheless, Alistair was sweaty, nauseous, and the pain from the wound was growing by the minute. Isabel wished Wynne was there to heal him, to help with his pain, to do _something_ , but that stupid mist had appeared out of nowhere and they'd gotten separated from her and the rest of their companions.

By the time nightfall came, Alistair could barely travel anymore, so they made camp for the night. As soon as everything was set up, Isabel tried to help Alistair as best she could. She tried to get him to eat, but he couldn't look at food without wanting to retch. She tried to force healing potions down his throat to help with the pain, but he couldn't get those down either. She stripped his armor off, leaving him in in only his pants, wiping the sweat from his body.

His breathing was shallow and unsteady as she dabbed the drops of sweat on his forehead with a cloth, his lips pressed together and his brow wrinkled just the slightest bit. He was trying so hard not to show his pain, most likely for her own benefit, but Isabel knew him too well to be fooled by his brave front. He was hurting, and so was she.

"Will you hold me?" he asked, a desperate look in his amber eyes. His voice cracked, betraying the composed façade he presented. Isabel nodded, forcing herself to smile at him. She tossed the cloth aside, settling back against her bedroll. Alistair laid with her, his burning body at her side, resting his head on her chest, his arms tightly encircling her waist. She gently ran her fingers through his short hair, her other hand holding him close.

It was weird to be comforting him like this. They both had nightmares about the darkspawn and the archdemon, but hers were always worse—and they were usually mixed with horrible dreams of her murdered family. More often than not, Alistair was the one comforting her, not the other way around. There had been times when she held him like she did now, but it was still new to her… even after knowing him for months.

"My middle name is Haelia," Isabel murmured, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"Haelia?"

"Yes, after Haelia Cousland," she replied. "Back during the Black Age she rallied the lords under her banner to rid their lands of werewolves. It earned her the title of Teyrna. Aldous, our historian, would tell us stories of her exploits against them." Isabel began to recite the stories, just as he always spoke to her to comfort her. Soon enough he seemed to feel better, relaxing his grip on her, his breaths steadying. "I guess it's fitting we're the ones dealing with werewolves now, considering my family's history," she finished, and he let out a weak laugh.

"I'm not surprised you're descended from such greatness," he muttered. "I guess you'll end up just like Haelia… it should be you…"

"What should be me?"

"I want you to be the one… to kill me… before I turn," he said, his voice barely audible.

Isabel bit her lip, blinking back the tears beginning to well in her eyes. "I'm not going to let that happen," she breathed.

"Oh, Izzy…" Alistair winced, momentarily digging his fingers into her skin as he fought back a wave of pain. "We're lost. The cure—"

"I'm not losing you, Alistair, not like this," she interrupted, trying to keep her voice steady. She couldn't fall apart _now_. "We'll find the others and then we'll find the cure. I'll rip Witherfang's heart out myself if I have to." She swallowed hard, holding him tighter. "I'm not losing you, too."

He shifted his head on her chest, meeting her gaze, staring at her for a long moment before trying to smile. "I love you, Isabel," he mumbled.

She sniffled, a knot forming in her throat from trying not to cry. "I love you, too," she replied, her voice wavering. "I'll fix this, I promise." He nodded, nestling his head back against her chest, and she resumed stroking his hair. "Don't worry about it, okay? Just try and get some sleep."

Alistair closed his eyes, eventually drifting off to sleep despite his symptoms. Isabel was jealous of the way he could almost sleep on command. When he didn't have any nightmares, he was such a heavy sleeper that he could probably sleep through an entire battle.

But Isabel wasn't going to sleep. Not when the man she loved was turning into a monster—a monster she'd have to kill. He was all she had left, her only family, and she couldn't lose him. She _couldn't_.


End file.
